Before the Dawn
by Ichaelis
Summary: Dragon Age: Origins - Spoilers. Alistair x f!Cousland; Alistair x Morrigan. Rated for sexual content.


**Before the Dawn  
**(A _Dragon Age_ fan fiction)**  
**

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_Castle Redcliffe - Ferelden_

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Amid the cedar-panelled, mortar-and-stone walls of Castle Redcliffe, Arl Eamon's personal servants moved about the dining room and kitchen as ghosts, determined and silent, carrying dishes of bronze and silver, filled – and then some – with bread, cheeses, fresh fruit, meats, spices and sweets. All dishes and goblets of fine wine were arranged on a long, mahogany table in the center of the dining room, encircled by a dozen carved chairs with red, velvet cushions.

As the kitchen staff busily prepared dinner, the arl's esteemed guests prepared themselves for a proper supper at an arl's table. The ritual included bathing and dressing in gowns of elegant fabrics and jewels, having one's hair brushed and styled, attended to by a few personal servants provided by Arl Eamon himself.

As a Cousland, Elissa was accustomed to bathing daily and being attended to by ladies-in-waiting and other servants, for she'd had an elven lady-in-waiting – an elderly, sweet thing – since she'd been but a child. Although she'd almost forgotten, Elissa connected easily with the girls – human and likely poor, and young – and fell once more into dependency like a comfortable old pair of shoes. After being brought to her bedroom chamber in the west wing, Elissa began removing her armour – coated in blood and dirt – to which a girl immediately abandoned a pitcher of water on an oak side table and began pulling on belts and buckles and carrying large, pieces of steel away to be cleaned and polished for the following morning. Another servant – in her place – tugged on strings and threads, taking off Elissa's clothing down to her brassier and linen tanga, while a third filled a basin with warm water.

The girl attending to her clothing offered an arm and Elissa clutched her firmly for balance, removing her undergarments. The bath was delightful; the girls made no attempt to hasten her, as she closed her eyes and sunk into the warm water. Petals floated on the surface, adding a faint, pleasant scent to the water. The girls gently rubbed her arms and legs and shoulders with cloths until all the blood and dirt had dissolved and her flesh remained clean as driven snow. They deloused and massaged her scalp and washed her hair with scented soaps, and once the bath had cooled and Elissa's fingertips and toes were numb and wrinkled, she climbed out and dried off with soft, thin towels. She dressed in fresh linen undergarments and moved to a lone stool so the servants could brush and dress her hair. As a girl braided her auburn tresses and pinned it around her head like a crown or halo, Elissa discovered her hair had grown long passed her shoulders.

As a child, although her mother was a formidable warrior herself, Eleanor adored Elissa's long, luxurious strands and spent afternoons brushing it in the garden, while Fergus played soldier with children from the village. Elissa had hated it, for she always desired to be male, like her brother, free to play and run in the streets and beauty felt feminine, restricting.

Elissa was fifteen when she cut all her hair off with a dagger from her father's vault. Eleanor had been furious but could do nothing and from that night on, Elissa maintained a pristine, short style, and refused to wear colour on her face or dresses; instead she donned armour and leather trousers and fought with shield and sword, like her father and Fergus.

Elissa blinked a couple of times, bringing herself out of the past and into the present. She contemplated cutting her hair, but decided against it for now; a wedding gown matched long hair better.

The dress the girls had laid out for her was beautiful: a blouse of opal silk, edged and embroidered in gold thread with a high-collared neckline and a corset of ivory leather. The skirt, crimson silk, hovered just above her ankles, revealing a pair of golden shoes with heels. A girl offered Elissa a box, carved out of cherry wood and encrusted with coloured gems.

Elissa glanced peculiarly at the girl.

"A brothal gift," explained the girl, opening the box to reveal a gold ring, "from His Majesty."

She nodded and slipped the band onto her finger, admiring the way it caught the light.

Clean and dressed, Elissa was escorted to the dining room and seated across the dining table from Alistair, beside Arl Eamon at the head, Bann Teagan and Riordan, the senior Grey Warden. Alistair's face darkened to a deep shade of crimson as he averted his gaze and pretended to be interesting in the discussion Eamon, Riordan and Teagan appeared to be having about the Blight and Denerim and the ensuing war. As Elissa fixed her skirt, an elven servant moved around the room, pouring goblets of wine at each setting. Beneath the dull hum of conversation, dishes moved around the table. Alistair covered his plate in several types of cheese and a slice of bread, before passing the plate to Riordan. Elissa selected fruit and a large pastry stuffed with mashed peas and potatoes but discovered that although her belly rumbled like an awakening dragon and her mouth watered at the sight of such delicious food, she wasn't all that hungry. She ate to humour the arl and the servants who fixed her with a concerned gaze, but poked at her dish until Eamon excused himself and the dinner dishes were taken away.

Eamon, Teagan and Riordan disappeared into Eamon's study, inviting Alistair to join them – an invitation he refused for the moment. Instead, he and Elissa moved into the adjoining chamber and sat before a fire in chairs with matching upholstery, gazing into the dancing flames for a long, silent while. Elissa noticed Alistair had bathed and traded armour for civilian clothing, and appeared content for perhaps the first time – outside a tent, anyways. He'd dressed in loose, blue trousers and a cerulean shirt with pearls and silver thread across the shoulders. Silk sleeves around his forearms revealed floral patterns woven into the fabric and on his feet he sported boots of dark, fine leather – patterned and stained almost black; Zevran would have been jealous. She found it strange to see him in casual garments, for she was so used to him in armour and couldn't imagine him as anything but a soldier. And yet, she supposed, as king, he'd spend far more time in court than on the battlefield; such appearances would soon become familiar.

Alistair got up from the chair and cross the small space between them, kneeling on the floor before her, and held both her hands in his. He kissed the back of her hand and smiled, tracing the band of gold around her finger with his thumb. "I apologize for not presenting the ring to you myself, or sooner."

"Apologies are unnecessary." Elissa's back curled as she brushed her lips against his forehead gently. "Besides, I'm the one who should apologize. I didn't intend on…I should have spoken to you before the Landsmeet, before implying marriage; I suppose I put you on the spot. Can you ever forgive me?"

"Ah; it'll be difficult, but I could, I suppose." Alistair grinned and rolled his shoulders.

"I could make it up to you," she suggested, drawing an invisible line along his jaw, "upstairs."

Alistair blushed, his ears and face becoming scarlet. After a moment, he drew back and frowned, puzzled. "Aren't people supposed to wait half an hour after eating before doing that?"

"I'm pretty sure you're confusing it with swimming."

"Ah, right! I didn't wait half an hour before swimming once." He recalled the afternoon several years ago, as a child, and shook his head. "All that cheese, wasted."

An elf entered the room, bowing his shoulders briefly and glancing about nervously. "Apologies for the interruption, ser. Arl Eamon has called for an audience before Your Highness and Lady Cousland decides to retire for the evening."

"All right." Alistair sighed and stood up. "I doubt I'll ever get used to being called "Your Highness'. I actually preferred 'bastard', I think."

Alistair and Elissa followed the elf towards Arl Eamon's study, where he, Teagan and Riordan gathered in a semi-circle, waiting. The atmosphere in the study suggested all was not well. Alistair dropped heavily into one of the large seats arranged in the center of the room, prepared for the bad news. Eamon explained that their belief the Archdemon and the darkspawn horde had been moving towards Redcliffe was incorrect and that, instead, the horde marched on Denerim, a couple days out. As Eamon and Teagan prepared the army and their dwarven, elven and magi allies to march at daybreak, Riordan summoned Alistair and Elissa to his chambers, only stating he wished to discuss important – but private – Grey Warden business.

"Ominous, isn't it?" Alistair leaned in close as he and Elissa followed the candlelit corridors towards Riordan's chambers. For reasons she couldn't explain – concern for the following morning, perhaps – she took his hand and gave it an assertive squeeze; appearances mattered not now that she was his betrothed. She doubted she'd have concerned herself with gossip and judgment regardless. "Any idea what Riordan plans to discuss?"

Elissa shook her head, and could have pointed out that Alistair was the senior Grey Warden between them and therefore should have greater knowledge, but didn't. She didn't feel like teasing him tonight.

After Duncan brought her to the Grey Wardens, after the battle in Ostagar, Elissa always knew things would come to an end, eventually. She'd been preparing for a major war for months – appointed by chance and Alistair's (ironic) refusal to take the lead – gathering allies and improving skill and strength with shield and sword. She believed she'd come to accept the hand the Marker dealt her; she could not save her father or her mother, could not undo Arl Howe's betrayal, although justice had been rightfully served. However, she_ could_ honour her new title as a Grey Warden, could destroy the Archdemon and save Ferelden, and perhaps, as Father and Mother watched her from the Maker's side, they might be proud of her.

However, now, as the eve of battle drew to an end, and the encounter with the Archdemon approached like a coming storm, Elissa began to doubt her own capabilities. The Archdemon embodied all sin – be it dwarven, elven, human or otherwise. A dragon was an animal; an Archdemon was far more. And Elissa felt like a child, still. She began to realize – to understand – that all her courage, all her skills and strength meant nothing; Duncan and Riordan had been Grey Wardens for years. Alistair, even, held greater seniority in the organization and there was much he still didn't know. How could Elissa expect to defeat an Archdemon, when others – many others – more capable than she could not?

She loathed to admit it – even to herself – that she feared dying. After the assault on her estate in Highever, she doubted she'd ever find beauty and joy in life again; for how could she, after betrayal and slander had destroyed her family, her home? But eventually, the Blight and concern for Ferelden's future allowed the betrayal to fester in the deepest part of her heart, and courage to replace it. Alistair and the others – Bodahn and Leliana, Oghren, Sandal, Sten and Wynne; even Morrigan and Zevran – became her family, gave her purpose, a reason to continue living. She didn't want to lose them, to part from them; but more than that, she didn't want to fail them.

Suddenly, Riordan's rough voice brought her out of her thoughts and she discovered they'd made it to his bedchambers. Elissa half-listened as he explained that the Archdemon could only be slain by a Grey Warden because of the darkspawn taint in their blood; shr had assumed as much. She always doubted that consuming the blood of a darkspawn – enduring such a dangerous ritual – merely allowed them to sense approaching hordes and little more.

As he explained that the Archdemon's essence – upon destruction of its mortal shape – would pass onto another darkspawn, lest slain by a Grey Warden, Elissa's attention became full and a chill swept across her arms and back as the grave reality of Riordan's words registered: a Grey Warden was required to sacrifice her or himself or the Archdemon would continue to live and thrive. Slaying the Archdemon was suicide.

At her side, Alistair clasped her hand tightly. She could feel his unease; it mirrored her own. Even after Riordan assured them that – as the eldest Grey Warden – he would assume responsibility for slaying the Archdemon, his assertion did little to soothe their worry. Elissa knew deep in her heart that his promise was an empty one. Attempt as he might, there'd been purpose in Alistair's and her survival at Ostagar; now she understood why.

After Riordan dismissed them for the evening, reminding them to get sleep before dawn – for they'd begin for Denerim immediately at sunrise – Alistair led Elissa upstairs; neither of them spoke. For the moment, Riordan's announcement echoed in their thoughts, the seriousness of their situation hanging like a heavy mantle on their shoulders.

By the time they'd reached the bedroom, Elissa had come to a decision. Although inexperienced and younger, she'd give her life to slay the Archdemon. She sought no glory in her sacrifice, save remaining in Alistair's memory; all she desired was to protect her beloved, and his country, from death and destruction.

"Alistair..."

"Elissa, don't even begin to consider it," he said, already knowing what she planned to say. "If anyone should slay the Archdemon, it should be me. I've already allowed you to carry the burden of leading us all this way; the final sacrifice should be mine."

Alistair closed the door gently and faced her, and Elissa saw in his dark gaze the same selfless thoughts as hers. As Elissa's future husband and Ferelden's king, he assumed responsibility for protecting Elissa, and Ferelden, consequences be damned. Alistair cradled her face in his hands, kissing her and smiling softly as she began to cry and shake her head, clasping the folds of his shirt tightly between her fingers.

"Fear not," he murmured, attempting to sound more certain than he felt. "It may not come to that."

"And if it should?" Elissa buried her face in his neck. "I can't lose you."

Alistair breathed deeply once; Elissa brought out something in him – courage he never before knew he possessed. "I'll always love you."

"Don't, please..." She couldn't even consider the possibility of his dying tomorrow. She didn't want to consider it. She missed her blissful ignorance - believing simply that the Archdemon would die as any other darkspawn, and all would be well in the aftermath; she wished Riordan had never told them such was not so. She caught his gaze and whispered, "Allow me to stay tonight."

Alistair nodded and pressed his lips to hers again, soft and tender at first, but growing with intensity until she made a mewling sound in the back of her throat. Elissa parted her lips, felt the cool moistness of his tongue against hers. She dexterously flicked open the buttons along the front of his shirt, sliding the elegant fabric off his shoulders, forgotten on the cold floor. He chuckled awkwardly as his fingers fumbled over the knots Elissa's ladies-in-waiting had tied, securing her corset beneath her breast. After a long moment, the knots loosened and Alistair made quick work of her bodice and skirt, abandoning them along with his shirt and trousers on the floor.

The bed was a comfortable alternative to a cold, hard mattress in dark tent, Elissa thought, as Alistair moved above her, between her knees pressed against his waist, and attempted to imagine a future laying in a bed like this back in Denerim with him; growing old, laying in each other's arms, making babies and whispering to one another in the darkness.

Any other night, foreplay might have continued on for several minutes more, each one teasing the other until at last surrendering to their desire, their love. However, every moment the evening wore on brought them closer to the end; every instant mattered tonight.

Alistair held her tightly, face in her neck, breathing her, kissing her, tasting her, his hands roaming her body, trying to remember everything about her: every curve, every dip and every scar: every perfect imperfection. Elissa's breath caught as their bodies came and began to move together, and she grasped his damp hair with one hand while the other curled around his shoulders, pressing him to her breast, as if to push him safely into her heart, where no Archdemon, no Blight, could steal him away.

Their bodies moved in a natural rhythm; a hot knot forming in her belly, rippling through her like an undulating wave. Developed and perfected during cool nights in camp, Alistair held out until Elissa called out his name and climaxed with her, his body shuddering, his knees weakening. Alistair dropped gently, his head on her breast, listening to the rapid beating of her heart, slowing.

Elissa dusted her lips against his temple as her eyes filled with tears. "I love you."

"And I you," he answered lazily.

After a long moment, watching the fire crackle and spark in the hearth across the room, Elissa got out of bed and dressed in a gown from an armoire beside the door and folded the dressing gown abandoned on the floor, setting it on a chair so it did not wrinkle. Although her body was sore, her bones and soul weary, she could not sleep and decided to collect her armour and weapons from her bedchamber before morning, when the army began to march.

The castle halls were silent and still. All guests had retired for the evening, leaving only guards and servants awake to move and stand wordlessly. As she approached the bedroom at the end of a long corridor, Elissa paused and slowed to a hesitant, wary pace. The bedchamber door had been opened, and firelight spilled across the cobblestone floor, spreading over the rich, scarlet carpet. But the glow was interrupted by a dark shadow; someone stood in her room, unmoving.

Elissa approached cautiously, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as she discovered the shadow belonged to Morrigan. As she heard her footfalls, Morrigan glanced over her shoulder; in the firelight her eyes appeared to burn against a shadowed visage. Morrigan's smooth voice assured her that she need not fear.

Elissa folded her arms over her chest, and despite herself, trembled. She could not shake the feeling that something was wrong with her companion. A loner by nature, Morrigan never approached Elissa directly unless she desired something. An ill sensation buried deep in Elissa's belly as she maintained distance between herself and the witch.

"Morrigan." Her name fell as a statement, not a question, asserting her dominance of the space. "Is everything all right?"

"After tomorrow, our acquaintance shall come to an end; in defeat or victory. I decided that it was therefore time we spoke." The other woman grinned a catlike smirk and shifted her weight onto one leg. "I have a plan, you see? A way out." She steeped her fingers together in front of her belly and bore her gaze into Elissa knowingly. "I _know _what happens when the Archdemon dies. I know a Grey Warden must be sacrificed and that sacrifice could be you."

Her tone did not waver from calm, cold seduction; she was baiting Elissa, attempting to entice her with an alternative to dying, to get her hopes up. Elissa learned that all came with a heavy price, especially from Morrigan.

"I am in no mood for games, Morrigan," Elissa snapped, caring not how the witch happened upon the sensitive knowledge. She'd accepted Morrigan's assistance only because Flemeth had offered it, and Elissa owed Flemeth her life. She'd never approved of Morrigan's complete disregard for life and for her obvious distaste for Alistair, for her constant insults and teasing. She had no patience for games tonight.

Morrigan held up her hands in defeat, and got to the point. "A ritual," she said simply, "performed on the eve of battle, in the dark of night."

Elissa's eyes followed her around as she moved towards Elissa's bed slowly, like a circling shark, a gentle swagger in her hips, and sat down on the edge of the mattress. Although she assumed she already knew, Elissa asked, "A ritual?"

"It is old magic," Morrigan answered and explained it was considered blood magic, from a time before the Circle of Magi had been formed. Flemeth had informed her of it, and indeed, it was to offer the ritual that Flemeth had sent Morrigan with Alistair and Elissa to begin with, and for no other purpose than that.

Morrigan dragged her hand in circles over the sheets. "What I propose is this: convince Alistair to lay with me – here, tonight – and from this ritual a child will be conceived. The child will bear the taint and when the Archdemon is slain, its essence will seek the child like a beacon. At this early stage, the child can absorb that essence and not perish. The Archdemon is destroyed with no Grey Warden dying in the process."

Elissa froze, her blood cooling, her heart slowing. She blinked a couple of times, certain she was dreaming, for Morrigan could not have proposed…Morrigan could not have seriously suggested asking Elissa to have Alistair – _Alistair_, her beloved, her betrothed, a man Morrigan clearly despised – make love to her in Elissa's bed to conceive a demon child.

Elissa began to laugh, despite the severity of the situation. She did not find anything particularly amusing, besides the fact that certainly Morrigan was joking, teasing her one final time in an attempt to prove that all their time together had indeed softened the witch's cold exterior. Although, Elissa decided, it wasn't an amusing joke, and the expression on Morrigan's face did not change, except to harden with impatience. Elissa's laughter died easily away.

"Consider what I offer: The chance to avoid death! Better yet, a chance to slay the Archdemon and _live _as a hero," Morrigan argued, confused as to why Elissa was refusing. She continued to explain that all she asked in return was to bear the child in secrecy, to raise on her own, secluded from society.

Elissa paced from one end of the room to the other and shook her head, not in disagreement, but in disbelief. "Are you serious? Ask Alistair to…to prostitute himself with you?" She stopped and turned to the witch. "And the child? Shall he – or she – become a darkspawn? Or die? Or live and return someday to Denerim, assuming claim to the throne?"

"All I desire is a child born with the soul of an old god; not the corruption, the spirit."

"Any why Alistair? Why not another Grey Warden?"

"The ritual must be performed tonight, before the Archdemon is slain tomorrow. Before that time, there exists no other Grey Warden in Ferelden besides Alistair, Riordan and yourself, " Morrigan counted on her fingers. "Clearly I cannot perform the ritual with you and Riordan has sustained the taint far longer, even if I considered that he could possibly entertain the idea. Alistair is the only acceptable candidate."

Elissa chewed her fingernail, racking her brain for an alternative, a fact Morrigan had overlooked. She could not fathom agreeing to this dark ritual, but neither could she decide against it; Alistair would certainly give his life to ensure she did not, and she could not bear the thought of losing him.

"Can I not conceive this child? If no harm shall come to it – if it merely need be an old, powerful god, then can I not?"

Morrigan rolled her shoulders. "I don't know; perhaps. However, you are no mage, nor witch. Blood magic requires a certain degree of knowledge, knowledge you are lacking, sadly. Conception may indeed be possible; however, I cannot guarantee the child – or you – will remain unharmed."

"Alistair will never agree to this," Elissa said. "He despises you."

"He will," Morrigan rebutted, "if you convince him to. Consider the alternative: If Riordan fails to slay the Archdemon, the responsibility rests with Alistair or you. Alistair – as a Grey Warden and king – will assume the responsibility himself. And if he does not, he loses you, his beloved. Perhaps I cannot feel love, but I can understand.

"I am offering you – _both_ of you – a chance at happiness while upholding your duty as Grey Wardens."

Elissa's expression grew dark and hard. "What if Alistair wishes to see the child?"

"He may not," Morrigan answered curtly, her tone suggesting there was no argument on the subject. "It is all I ask in return."

"…All right," Elissa said, feeling her heart shatter in her breast. She felt ashamed, dirty and guilty. "I'll ask him."

At that, Morrigan smiled. "A wise decision," she said, crossing one knee over the other. "I shall wait here while you go and speak to Alistair. I urge you to be convincing; if he should refuse, I shall depart before dawn, and your fates shall be in the Marker's hands."

Elissa found herself hating the other woman with a deep revulsion she hadn't felt since discovering Howe had betrayed her family, as she collected her armour and weapons and carried all back to Alistair's room.

Alistair was awake when Elissa returned, casually dressed and seated before the fireplace, nursing a glass of ice water. He glanced at her as she crossed the room, arranging her armor and sword on a rack beside his.

"Are you all right?" he asked, privy to her sudden change in disposition. "You were gone a long while. I'd begun to worry."

Elissa flickered a brief smile to hide her pain and instead of joining him before the fire, sat down on the edge of the bed. "Morrigan was waiting for me when I returned."

Alistair perked a brow, sipping his water. "Oh? And what did she want?"

Closing her eyes, Elissa patted the mattress beside her. "Alistair, we need to talk."

His chest tightened and he swallowed hard. A statement like that seldom ended well. Alistair rose from the chair and moved beside her. He almost cracked a joke, but seeing the seriousness on her face kept the words at bay, and so instead, he took her hand in both of his, resting it in his lap. He assumed they'd gotten passed keeping secrets. He assumed they could be honest with one another, could rely on one another. The fact that she felt the need to dance around the issue troubled him and he tried not to imagine the worst.

"I love you. You know that, right?"

Alistair grinned uneasily and caressed her face gently. "Could you make it sound more ominous? Please, tell me – whatever it is."

Elissa's blue eyes met his brown ones, and glittered with tears. "I…I need you to do something for me – for _us_. I need you to perform a ritual…with Morrigan."

"As in… bathing in goat's blood while chanting some sort of demonic pagan spell?" he asked chuckling, but Elissa shook her head, only wishing it were that easy.

"I'm asking you to…" Elissa swallowed, the words bitter in her mouth. "to conceive a child - with Morrigan - that'll attract the Archdemon's essence and destroy it without dying. She said it's ancient magic – Flemeth's probably. I already said yes; I just need you to agree."

Alistair's gaze narrowed and he tried to laugh, but only a mousey whimper came out. "Are you serious? Come now; I know I joke around a lot, but at least my jokes are tasteful. This isn't even funny."

But Elissa wasn't joking, and a few silent tears rolled down her face.

Alistair got up and crossed the room, combing his fingers through his hair. He needed space, he needed to think. He shook his head. He couldn't believe he was hearing this. Be killed by the Archdemon or conceive a bastard child with Morrigan – to cheat on the woman he loved with a woman he reviled. He glanced at her, fixing her with a hard stare, begging her to release him from his obligation, to assure him that she'd changed her mind; she loved him too much to ask such a thing of him. "Even if I was willing to entertain the idea – and I'm not saying I am…Is this really what you want me to do? Are you sure…"

She buried her face in her hands, she shoulders trembling and wept for the first time in what felt like forever. Everything that'd happened – all the betrayal and death and pain – had been almost bearable, but now…She hated herself for asking this of him, for selling him out like a prized stallion.

"I'm sorry," Elissa wept, "I'm so sorry…"

Alistair's heart broke and he held her tightly. As much as he detested Morrigan, he detested the idea of infidelity more. Although Elissa had agreed to the ritual, it felt improper. He'd been raised to respect women, to value the deep emotional bond between lovers, the sanctity of making love to someone. He'd waited – while other men, including Templars, spent evenings with Chantry sisters and whores in the local taverns. He'd fallen in love with Elissa and decided long before asking to spend the night with her that he never wanted another woman; even if he hadn't become king, and if she were not of noble blood, he'd have asked her to marry him, once all this was over. It was his adoration and commitment to her, and his honour, that made the notion of sleeping with Morrigan so unappealing.

"Elissa…" He sighed, wishing there was another way to spare them tomorrow. "I love you, and I trust you. If you decide this is best, then I'll do it."

Elissa looked at him with large, wet eyes. Although a part of her reveled in his agreement – for both he and she would be spared – another part of her hated that he'd taken so little convincing. She knew deep in her heart that he did not wish to be with anyone, least of all Morrigan, and agreed only to save their lives. But it did not change the fact that he'd agreed to do it at all, and her stomach fell to her knees as he left the room, deciding to get it over with, lest he change his mind.

Elissa fought the desire to run after him and beg him not to do it. After Connor became an abomination, and all hope had seemed lost, she'd found a way to spare him, so neither mother nor son had to die. If there was another way…She knew there wasn't – or if there was, they hadn't the time to find it. Elissa fell into the bed sheets, crying into the pillows, until all energy had been spent, all tears shed, and she collapsed, exhausted, into a restless sleep.

.

Alistair found Morrigan in Elissa's bedroom, combing her fingers through her black hair, hanging down over her pale shoulders. Before he'd even a chance to close the door, she began removing her chains and jewels, setting them on a table beside the bed. Her eagerness troubled him and he thumbed through a catalogue of memories, finding it difficult to imagine that every time she'd insulted him – called him stupid and mocked him – she'd always intended on offering this ritual, always predicted he'd accept it, if not for Elissa's sake, than for his own.

"Alistair, don't look at me like that," she slurred. "Has it occurred to you that you may actually enjoy this?"

"Believe me…I doubt it," he replied, hesitantly removing his clothes. He glanced away as Morrigan began to shed her robes. "Exactly how does this work?"

"Am I to assume every night spent beside Elissa has not educated you in the art of love making? Forgive me, for I merely suspected even a fool such as yourself could eventually grasp the concept of laying with a woman," Morrigan said in the same mocking tone he'd come to expect from her. She honestly had no respect for him at all - then again, he doubted she had respect for anyone, not even her own mother.

"Shut up!" Alistair snapped. He had no patience for Morrigan's jests. "I meant the ritual. How am I to be certain a child will be conceived tonight and all this – " He gestured about them, to the bed and to them, " – is not for nothing?"

Alistair frowned and Morrigan smirked, apparently enjoying his discomfort. "If Elissa didn't trust me, she'd have never asked you to participate; and if you didn't trust_ her_, you'd have never agreed. But here you are."

She loosened the strings behind her neck, freeing her breasts of the small triangles of fabric that supported them. Alistair had to admit, she had a beautiful body – elegant and slim, with curves and dips in all the right places. Any man would have been honoured to be in his shoes, although he found no comfort in her beauty, no desire to kiss her or touch her, no excited fire in his belly. He could have been looking at an ivory sculpture of an ancient goddess for all that she aroused him.

Alistair climbed into bed, disgusted with himself and guilty, as Morrigan approached and crawled over him, supporting herself on hands and knees. She blew out a candle, leaving them in darkness, and after a moment, as eyes adjusted to blackness, the moonlight streaming through the window edged her figure in silver. Morrigan began by dragging her fingers lightly down his skin, caressing his chest and stomach, but Alistair grabbed her roughly by the wrist until her bones burned and she bit her lip to suppress a whimper. She could feel his hatred, hot in his touch; she'd never seen Alistair so angry before, and although she was loathe to admit it, he began to frighten her.

"Don't," he hissed from the darkness. "Don't kiss me, don't speak to me, and don't _touch_ me any more than you have to."

As he released her wrist, Morrigan massaged the aching bone and rolled her eyes; she'd never allow him the satisfaction of seeing her worried. "Very well."

Alistair closed his eyes, attempting to imagine Elissa in Morrigan's place, hoping it'd make things easier, and for a time, it did. As he imagined Elissa's body, Elissa's face and hands and voice, imagined all the evenings he'd spent with her in his arms, feeling her, kissing her, whispering to her, he felt his body respond to Morrigan's advances. The bed sheets crinkled beside his ear, her fingers grasping the linens as she lowered herself onto him, a deep groan rumbling in her throat. She hadn't enjoyed the company of a man in several months – before the Blight even – and his intrusion felt foreign and strange, although not unpleasant.

Alistair's breath caught in his throat; he fought the urge to respond to the sensation, fearing that he might actually be _enjoying_ it - as Morrigan had suggested - and hating what that could mean.

Anger, despair and hatred burned inside him far greater than passion and Alistair forced Morrigan onto hands and knees before him, like a dog, driving into her fiercely, knowing that he actually desired to hurt her. As Morrigan responded with deep-throated groans and - despite her promise - soft encouragments between boughts of wicked laughter, Alistair clamped a hand over her mouth, wishing instead that he could wring her neck. He was always gentle with Elissa, tender and warm. Morrigan brought out an aggressiveness he never knew he possessed, and as his movements came harder and quicker, a familiar feeling grew inside him.

"Elissa, forgive me," he murmured, and hot tears crawled out of the corners of his eyes as he came inside her, clutching her hips to stop himself from pulling out. He had to conceive this child – this _monster_ – otherwise everything he'd done would have been for nothing.

Afterwards, Alistair pulled out of her and rose from the bed, his hands shaking and his knees weak.

Already Morrigan could feel the blood magic hastening the ritual's effects; his seed taking hold in her womb. She didn't move from the bed, or speak, for there was nothing he wished to hear, and nothing she wished to say. In the darkness, she silently watching as he collected his clothing, dressed quickly and shamefully slipped out of the room, hating himself.

Alistair headed towards Morrigan's chamber – for she'd decided on using Elissa's room for the ritual, as if to torment him further. Alone, he discarded his clothing on the floor and filled a basin with cold water. He hoped to cleanse himself of the horrible sin he'd committed – the betrayal and blasphemy, bringing such a creature into the world – so with a cloth and harsh soap, he rubbed his skin until it was raw and red, shallow lesions decorating his flesh.

After the basin had been drained and he'd dressed in fresh clothes, Alistair returned to his room, and discovered Elissa asleep in bed. In the firelight, dancing across her face, he could see she'd been crying, for her eyelids were red and swollen. She clutched a red rose – the red rose he'd offered her, shimmering silver with ancient magic to keep it alive.

Alistair climbed into bed beside her, putting her arms around her waist and bringing her against him tightly. He buried his face in her hair, drawing a deep, long breath. She felt like Heaven, and as he fell asleep with Elissa in his arms, Alistair prayed to the Maker that he'd done the right thing; he prayed the child he'd conceived with Morrigan would protect them and that, perhaps, someday, he and Elissa would conceive a child of their own and live long enough to see that child grow, become king or queen and lead Ferelden into an era of pease and prosperity. Then, perhaps, he'd feel as though his sacrifice had been worthwhile.

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/Before the Dawn

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**Disclaimer: **Alistair Theirin, Cousland and all _Dragon Age_-related characters are property of BioWare and EA Games.

**Author's Note: **I changed the dialogue a bit to allow the story to flow and not appear a line-by-line script. Aimo's NWSF comic inspired this fan fiction because, I agree that Alistair's disgust for Morrigan and involuntary response to the idea of the ritual did not translate well on screen with recycled cinematics.


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